Family Ties
by RavenOfFrost
Summary: When Molly finds an abandoned baby, Sherlock and John are on the hunt for the mother, only going by a photo. While on the search, trouble rises that places the lives of Molly Hooper and baby in danger. Pairings inside.
1. Prologue

**No characters belong to me besides the unfamiliar. **

* * *

It was a typical day in the flat of 221B Baker Street. Well, it was more like a boring day as John was married- like he has been for the past year- and Sherlock was bored out of his brilliant mind. Just laying about in his couch and giving up on his thoughts, he texted his friend:

_John. I'm bored. -Sh_

A moment later, he got a reply.

_What do you want me to do?_

_Talk to me. Something. I am so bored it's driving me to suicide. -SH_

_Don't. Not again._

He could just hear him saying that.

_I'm not serious. -Sh_

_Look. I can't help you. I'm busy._

Sherlock rolled his eyes and typed:

_You are doing nothing, but watching television.- SH_

_…And spending time with my wife. Like you should be doing with Molly._

_Molly's out. -SH_

He didn't get a response.

Instead of flooding John's phone, Sherlock loosely dropped the phone on the floor and hung his head off the arm of the couch. "Booooored." He didn't know when Molly Hopper, his girlfriend for the past year, was going to be back.

At that moment, the door opened, making him turn his head to it to find Molly holding a bundle in a white blanket, her brown eyes wide. "Sherlock," her voice was quiet. "Someone abandoned a baby."

The detective shot up from the chair, looking at her, wanting to know if he heard her right. "What?"

She approached him and uncovered the face of a sleeping infant, who wasn't more than a year old. "He was abandoned. I heard crying coming from a alley while I was walking home." She looked at her boyfriend with worry. "What should we do?"

Sherlock lightly shook his head. "Turn him to the police. Nothing we can do and certainly he can't stay here." He turned away, heading back to the couch. He may be a detective, but there was nothing for him to work on with this one.

Molly looked at him with horror. "Are you serious?"

"We're not keeping him," he ordered, staring at his wife with cold eyes. There was no way he was going to keep an infant in the flat where they can't even properly take care of a child, let alone being the legal parents. By the condition of the white blanket, he was abandoned a moment before Molly had found him.

She looked down at the baby, then back to him. "Sherlock. He's not even a year old."

"So?" He knew that it sounded cold, but that's what he was.

She shook her head as she began to walk to the kitchen with the baby in her arms. "You are certainly cruel at times," she coldly announced.

He rolled his grey eyes. "Molly." He went after her, not wanting a conflict being of a child that isn't even theirs. "He belongs in a orphanage or something. Any place, but here." When he got to the kitchen, he just found her staring at a photo with the child in her arms. "Molly?" He asked as he approached her. "What is it?"

Her face was pail as she whispered, "A photo of a woman."

He looked over her shoulder and was looking at the photo of a smiling blonde that was no older than twenty wearing jeans and a green blouse. Curious, he took the photo, flipped it over, only to find a blank back. "Probably the mother," he muttered. He then handed the photo back to his girlfriend and hurried to his phone and texted John:

_We have a case. Get over here A.S.A.P. -Sh_


	2. Chapter 1

"So we have an abandoned baby with only a photo that may be the mother?" John asked as he was leaning forward in his chair with elbows on his knees.

"Precisely," Sherlock replied as he was sitting in the chair in front of him with his fingertips together and grey eyes narrowed. "Why would anyone want to abandon their child and leave only a photo?"

"Maybe she was poor and didn't want to give up the baby?" Molly asked as she was feeding the chid with a bottle from the couch.

John gave a small shrug. "Sounds like it." He looked at the detective. "So if she can't take care of the child, why try to find her?"

"Obviously she wanted to be eventually reunited with the child," Sherlock answered as he stood up, hands behind his back, staring at the photo that was pinned on the center of the wall above Molly. "She didn't want to put out too much information like name or anything, but didn't want the child to be empty handed. She clearly didn't want the child forget about her." He looked down at Molly. "Where exactly did you find the child in the alley?"

She looked at him with concern. "He was laying on the floor behind a dumpster. All wrapped up."

He looked straight ahead of himself, then to the baby. "Clearly she cared about where she placed the child. She didn't carelessly throw him him away, but placed him in a safe area by a dumpster."

"So if she wanted to reunite with her baby," John began, "that means that she never wanted to give him up. Which means that we have to find this woman?"

"Exactly."

"Why not just place her photo in the news-"

Sherlock gave him a glare that looked as if the doctor was stupid. "If we post her photo in the newspaper, we'd have a bunch of desperate look-alikes all wishing they could be mothers."

"There are people like that," Molly added.

John nodded, accepting it as an answer. "Alright. So the case of the Abandoned Baby then."

"'Family Ties' you could call it," Molly chimed in, making them both look at her. "Reuniting a mother and child." She smiled gently. "I think it's lovely."

Sherlock and John gave each other small smiles, knowing that if this case ended well, it was going to have a good end.

"Now then," Sherlock clapped is hands together. "We need to start the search." He walked over to the couch, took down the photo, and headed for his coat.

"Let me guess," his friend muttered, looking at him over his chair. "Your homeless network?"

"Of course." He looked at his friend with wonder as he was placing his coat and his scarf on. "They would know." He looked at his friend. "Stay here with Molly. You're a dad. You know what to do."

John was about to say something, but he was already opening the door and Molly hurried to the detective's side to give him a quick kiss. "Be careful, alright?" She asked with concern.

He smirked. "I am I not always?" He then walked out, closing the door behind him.

"So says the detective who was a drug addict," John grumbled while standing up. He then noticed something strange in the eyes of the little lady. "Is something wrong?" He quickly waved his hands. "If I said anything to worry you, I-"

She lightly shook her head. "It's not that," her voice was low. She looked back at the dark-grey door. "I always worry about him."

John nodded his head, knowing what she felt.

* * *

Two hours had past when Sherlock returned to the flat at two in the afternoon. Forgetting that there was a child, he was about to close the door, until and John and Molly silently gestured to him to be quiet, pointing at the sleeping baby on the couch. Annoyed, Sherlock silently closed the door.

"The baby only fell asleep fifteen minutes ago," Molly whispered.

He rolled his eyes. "Great. Now I have to worry about a sleeping infant," he grumbled in a whisper. He looked at John who was sitting in his chair. "Thank God you're here."

John gave a proud smile. "Good thing I have a baby now myself."

"John helped me with him while you were gone," Molly explained with smile. "He even got temporary supplies, but," she looked at the detective with concern, "the child needs mother's milk."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Won't formula satisfy?" He hissed.

"Sherlock," John whispered, standing up. "The baby's only six months old. Mary is still nursing."

The detective quickly waved his hands. "Not now. First, I got a tip."

Before they could say anything, he pulled out the photo from his coat. "No name, but supposedly she used to go to the local pub every Saturday, but hasn't been seen for awhile."

"We need to search the pub on Saturday," John stated.

"Indeed we do."

"So that means," he heavily sighed, "we have to wait six bloody days."

All three of them sighed as Sherlock was in annoyance. As long as the kid was quiet, things were going to be fine.

* * *

Three days had past and the last night the child kept crying, making Molly get up to comfort the baby in the living room.

Sherlock just ignored it and carried on to sleep.

In the morning, Mrs. Hudson came by. "I thought I heard a-"

There, sitting on the couch, was Molly bottle-feeding the baby.

The landlady's face dropped with confusion, then smiled as she closed the door. "I didn't know you were pregnant."

Sherlock, who was in the kitchen working on a experiment, nearly dropped a glass beaker at those words. Sighing with annoyance, he made his way over the living room as Molly was trying to explain what happened to the older woman, who was leaning over the baby. "It's a orphan," he coldly announced, catching the landlady's attention. "Molly found it in a alley and we're looking for the mother."

Mrs. Hudson looked sympathetically at the child and placed a hand over her heart. "Oh, poor dearie." She then smiled at the couple. "You two would make lovely parents."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Are you thinking about it?"

"We aren't even married," Sherlock answered lowly as Molly looked embarrassed.

"Well, I know you aren't always just sleeping. I could see the way when Molly looks at you and I know that you-"

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock cried.

"I'm just saying it's healthy for a relationship," the landlady stated, looking slightly offended by the outburst.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose as his girlfriend looked away with a smile of embarrassment.

"Well," the landlady began as she headed for the door, "I'll off to the market. Need anything for the baby?"

"We're good, thanks," Molly answered with a smile.

She gave a final smile, then walked out the door.

Sherlock didn't look at Molly, clearing his throat. "That was interesting."

"It was," Molly agreed as she was finished feeding the baby, placing the bottle down on the floor, and stood up, walking to her boyfriend. "You can hold him if you like."

He just looked down at the brown-eyed infant with his own eyes. "Hmmm no." Then headed for the kitchen. "I don't deal with children, Molly. Only search for their mother," he explained. He was never the kind who had a soft spot for a child and never will be.


	3. Chapter 2

It was Thursday night and the baby kept crying, making Molly get up again, but this one was an all-nighter. Trying not to lose his patience, Sherlock was trying to block out the crying by burying his head under the pillow or go to his Mind Palace, but the crying just echoed through his brain. On and off with the crying, it finally ended at two in the morning.

In the morning, the baby was sleeping, making up for his night of shrieking and Sherlock hated him even more. Hopefully tomorrow he'll find the mother. At nine in the morning, there was a knock on the door, and Molly quickly opened it before the baby could cry as Sherlock was in the kitchen working on his experiment.

"Hello, Mol- Oh. A baby. I never knew you were- Um…"

Sherlock sighed with annoyance.

He knew that voice anywhere.

Heaving himself to his feet, he headed for the living room as Molly was explaining to his older brother about the orphan. "We may find the mother tomorrow night," he simply explained.

Mycroft looked at his little brother with amusement. "Oh, yes. That's right. I saw the blog. _Family Ties _as it's called." He glanced at the sleeping baby on the couch, then back to the detective. "Thank God. I'm not ready to be an uncle and I can't _imagine you_ being a father."

Sherlock gave a snort. "Hardly." That was the last thing he wanted to be. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

"Actually, Sherlock, I came to talk to you about something." There was a strangeness in his eyes.

Sherlock gave a small dip of the head and lead his brother to the kitchen. "What is it?" He asked in a hushed voice, knowing that something was wrong.

"Someone wants your head," Myroft coldly answered.

That amused the detective. "Who is it?"

"Before I get to that-" he glanced at the brain that was sitting in the bowl on the table beside him. "Honestly," he scoffed with disgust.

"Ex-"

"Experiment. I know." He turned his attention back to his little brother. "I got a text last night saying that you'll end up in a morgue."

The detective waved it off. "Some bluff." He was about to walk back to the living room.

"It said that there will be death, Sherlock. And your death will be the first."

Those words stopped him in his tracks.

That caught his attention.

He spun on his heel and faced his brother. "Do you have the text?"

Mycroft pulled out the phone from the pocket of his grey slacks, flipped through his phone, then handed the detective the cell phone with the message on the screen.

Sherlock took the phone and read the text:

_Tell your brother that there will be death, starting with his. I want to let him know..._

He was taken aback. "Simple as that? Really?" He handed the phone back to his brother. "Did you locate the source?"

"Yes and no," Mycroft sighed as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "We later found out the phone was destroyed including the data card."

"Damn," he hissed, looking away in with annoyance.

"At least we don't have to worry about people dying, until you do." There was a faint smile on his face.

"Good," Sherlock muttered as he turned away to walk out. "Because I already have a challenging case and I want that infant gone!"

"Rough night?" His brother mused.

"He kept crying all night long," he growled. He wouldn't be surprised if Molly was going to take a nap today. He wasn't because he didn't have time for that will his experiment and watching the offspring. When he and Molly were out and about, Mrs. Hudson would babysit… Thank God.

"Not ready for fatherhood yet, I see."

"Never," the detective grumbled. The thought made him disgusted.

"Good luck finding the mother, Sherlock." Mycroft chuckled as he walked out and began to say his good-byes to Molly, then left. There was doubt in his voice, but Mycroft knew better than to doubt him. His older brother cared more about his little brother than anyone thinks and that was proven to Sherlock when he was spared after killing Magnussen.

When he walked out to Molly, there was concern in her brown eyes. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," he confidently answered, knowing that it was true. It was just a threat. So far, at least.

"Normally when your brother pulls you aside there's something wrong." The worry still lingered in her eyes.

He chuckled amusingly as he approached her and kissed her head. "No need to worry, Molly." When he walked back to the kitchen, he didn't notice the concern that was still on her face.

* * *

During the day, Sherlock was ready to hear from Mycroft in case he heard anything from the killer-to-be and, of course, his brother contact him, which he was fine with. At noon, Molly took a nap, leaving Sherlock with a baby that was still sleeping. _At least he's sleeping, _he thought to himself, staring at the baby that was bundled in the same blanket that his mother left him on the couch. He glanced at the photo of the woman on the wall. "Hopefully we'll get you to your mother tomorrow." He sat in his chair, reading his book, keeping an eye on the child just in case of anything.

Hours past and the child was still sound asleep and Molly had woken up. "Good thing it's my day off today," she tiredly grumbled as she walked in the living room.

"Yes," he agreed as he was reading a book in his chair. So far he had yet to be alone looking after the child because he simply wanted to avoid it.

She kissed his head. "I'm going to make tea. Want any?"

"Why not?" He asked, closing the book and followed her. "Tomorrow we may get the child to his mother."

She smiled at him over her shoulder as she was getting the water boiled. "I know. Hopefully she'll be happy."

He knew Molly wouldn't mind being a mother, but he on the other hand was a complete different story. Hopefully she wasn't growing a connection with a child that wasn't hers.


	4. Chapter 3

On Friday morning, Sherlock woke up to finding a text from his brother:

_Sherlock. Another text came in and I quote "18/7 855 Where it should've ended." Do you know what that means? Also why is he texting me? You're the one he wants to kill._

Sherlock got out of bed with phone in hand and walked to the living room, quickly replying, _I don't know. Since you're my brother he probably thinks he's scaring you. That or he has the wrong number. I'll figure it what it means shortly. -SH. _Sherlock flopped on his chair, studying the numbers on the text. "It looks like a time and date," he muttered to himself. "But what does-"

"Morning," a lazy voice greeted.

He raised his head to Molly, who had a tired smile on her face. "I didn't wake you did I?"

She drowsily shook her head with a tried smile.

The detective got up, tossed his phone on the table, walked up to her, placed his hands on her arms, and kissed her forehead. "Good morning, my dear."

Molly leaned into him, head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his body with her eyes closed with a satisfied smile on her face.

He smirked humorously as he gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "Molly."

"Hm?"

"Tonight is we find the mother. Hopefully."

"I know she muttered."

They both turned to the sleeping baby on the couch. It was much harder for them to take care of the infant than any of them thought, but once in a while Mary would come over with her own child to help out. It was going to odd without the child after five or so days, but they could have their lives back.

Molly looked up at him with love in her eyes. "I love you."

He looked at down at her with a loving smile. "I love you, too, Molly Hooper." He kissed her forehead and held the kiss., until his phone vibrated on the wooden table, making him go and grab it. It was another text from Mycroft asking if he solved it. He sent a quick, _Not yet. -Sh._

"Who was it?"

"No one important," he simply answered. It wasn't a complete lie. He placed the phone back on the table and headed for the kitchen. "What some tea?"

"Yes, please."

Another text.

Sighing with annoyance, he marched over to the phone, picked it up, seeing that it was John who contacted him. Reading the quick text, he didn't need to reply, just ignoring it, then returned his way to the kitchen. Until a thought entered his mind, making hurry to his phone and send a quick text to his brother, then retuned to make tea.

"Are you alright?" Molly asked as she was sitting beside the baby.

He poked his head around the corner with a grin. "Fine." When he when back to the kitchen, he sighed to himself, not wanting to worry Molly. The numbers were certainly a time and date, but the message was something different. _Where it should've ended_. What does that mean? Where what should've ended? What was meant to end? As he beginning to boil the water in the kettle, his mind was trying to figure out of what it meant.

Ended. Ended.

What should have ended?

The date of the 18th in July meant nothing.

He stormed out of the kitchen to his chair. "Molly, take of the tea," he ordered. "I must think." He flopped on his favorite chair as his girlfriend did what she was told, and delved into his Mind Palace, going back to any July, 18th. Everything that came up with that date had nothing to do with anything that should have ended. Images of boring days and days of crime solving appeared before his eyes, but nothing that "should have ended". This month was June and the eighteenth of July was going to arrive in exactly nine days. It must be a random date. It had to be because it means nothing to him!

"The date is random," he whispered to himself, snapping his eyes open.

He got up, walked to his phone, and quickly texted his brother to inform him about the date and that it meant nothing.

Now on to part two.

Sitting back in his chair, he began to think of what "should have ended". Something that should have ended. It had to be something important. Something that may have ended, but didn't. What didn't end? Everything came to an end. There were unsolved cases, of course, but nothing that happened recently. Nothing that stood out. What should have ended? What? What? What?

"What did not end?" He suddenly cried out in frustration.

The baby began to cry.

Molly walked out of the kitchen to the crying child. "Sherlock," she hissed, taking the baby in her arms. She began to bounce him in her arms as the detective placed his face in his hands, trying to think.

At that moment, there was another text, making him growl with annoyance and retrieved his phone.

Sure enough in was Mycroft.

_Change of plan: You are no longer the first one on his list. There has just been a murder with a note written in blood saying your name._

"Damn it!" He growled. He quickly texted his brother, but was interrupted by a phone call, making him answer. "What happened?" He coldly demanded as he lightly began to pace, not noticing Molly's concerned gaze as she took the crying baby to the bedroom.

"Whoever this is wants you dead."

"Obviously," he muttered. "Why did you tell me this and not Lestrade?"

"Because he isn't getting texts from a killer. Also your name does look eerie in blood."

He was about to head for his closet to get his clothes. "I'm on my-"

"Don't bother, Sherlock. You've got enough problems on your hands and I highly doubt that you want to worry Molly. You've got enough problems as it is."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, becoming concern. "But they want to-"

"You just keep on this case with the child and leave the crimes scenes be. I'll let you know when anything comes up, little brother. Also the return number changes with every text."

"I can't just stand by and wait while people get killed," he hissed, starting to pace with frustration.

"I know. This will be very hard for you, won't it?" There was a hint of amusement in his voice. "Just stay on your case now and I'll keep in touch."

"Myc-"

"Good-bye."

The line went dead.

* * *

It was Friday night when John and Sherlock were getting ready to head out to the pub where the detective got the tip as Molly was going to stay home with the baby. Placing the photo of the child's mother in his coat pocket, the detective and his partner were hoping that she was going to be there at the given time. "Text me if anything comes up," Sherlock told his girlfriend as he was wrapping his usual dark-blue scarf around his neck. If all goes well, they'll be able to the bring the mother to the flat where her son will be waiting for her.

"I will," the pathologist replied with a curt nod. She walked up to him and kissed him. "Be safe."

He looked at her with confidence. "I always am."

Before Sherlock and John were about to walk out, she signaled to John to come over to her.

"I'll meet you downstairs," John told his friend, who carried on without him. He looked over at the girlfriend with concern as there was concern in her own eyes.

"I want you to keep an eye on Sherlock," she told him in a hushed voice. "His been getting text and calls from his brother and it seems like something bad is happening, but Sherlock won't tell me."

John knew that sounded strange. He gave her a serious nod. "I will," he promised. Then walked out the door with concern in his mind for his best friend.


	5. Chapter 4

The two partners climbed into a taxi, telling the driver where to go. As the taxi began to pull away from the curb, Sherlock didn't look at his friend as he announced, "I know Molly told you to keep an eye on me in case of anything happening."

The blonde man looked at his friend with concerned eyes. "Yeah. She said you've been getting calls from Mycroft and by the way you were acting, something is wrong."

"There _is_ something wrong," he replied in a low voice, looking out the window, but not paying attention to the surroundings. "Someone wants me dead and killed the first victim this morning, writing my name in blood as warning, I take."

"Why kill someone if they want you?" He didn't take his eyes off of the detective in confusion.

"I was originally the first victim, but they killed someone else. They want to get a message to me." He pulled out the phone from his pocket, showing his blogger the text with the riddle. "The numbers are the 18th of July at 8:55 either a.m or p.m. Also, Mycroft told me that the return number changes with every text." It boiled his blood that his brother told him to stay out of the case, but he understood the reason since he had to return the baby to its mother as soon as possible. Even though a person died because of the detective!

"'Where it should've ended'. What does that mean?" John's voice pulled the detective out of thought.

"Where something should've ended," he muttered as he placed the cell phone back into his pocket.

"So are you supposed to go somewhere on that time and date to where something should have ended?"

"That is what I am guessing…"

The two of them sat in silence for the rest of the drive as Sherlock's mind carried on to race, thinking of the message.

* * *

Upon arrival at the pub, there was already people laughing, talking, and drunk with no surprise at all. The two friends paid for the ride and marched into the pub. Voices immediately flooded their minds as the pub was crowded with people. Sherlock wanted to find the woman and get out of here. Spotting the bar, he made his way to the bartender.

"What can I get you?" The young bartender asked with a friendly smile and kind blue eyes.

"We're looking for someone. Have you seen this woman?" He placed the photo on the wooden counter, sliding the picture to the young man that was no older than twenty-five.

The man sadly shook his head. "Haven't seen her for a month."

That caught Sherlock's attention, making him look at the man in the eyes. "Only a month?"

"Yeah." He raised his head from the photo. "She didn't seem to be the party type and only drank a beer or two. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders."

"Do you know anything of her?" John questioned, looking at the bartender with curiosity.

The young man turned his gaze to the doctor. "All I know is that she didn't like her father very much and was secretive about her stories. She didn't like talking personal, only on happier notes."

"She was tired of being unhappy," Sherlock explained as he tucked the photo back into his pocket. "She didn't want to talk about things that made her sad like her father and wasn't a wild one with only drinking a glass or two considering that she was a mother."

"What does that have to do with finding her?" John asked.

"It doesn't." He locked eyes with the bartender's, hoping to find more answers. "Do you know her name?"

"Emily, I believe it was."

"Last name?" John asked.

The bartender shook his head. "Don't know. Sorry."

Sherlock straightened his coat, getting ready to leave this noisy place. "If anything comes up on Miss. Emily, contact Dr. Watson, here."

"Why me?" John hissed at him with annoyance.

"Because you like people. Now give the man your card," he orderly coldly. He strongly disliked people questioning him.

John sighed, pulling out his wallet to get a business card, handing it to the bartender.

"Also," Sherlock turned back to the young man, "don't worry about your wife. She's not cheating on you, but if I were you, I'd stay away from the blonde neighbor."

The young man just looked at him with large, puzzled eyes, clearly not knowing what to say.

"Let's go." Sherlock began to head for the door with John thanking the man, then began to follow.

When they got outside, Sherlock's mind began to return to the text message as John began to ask questions about Emily, but wasn't listening. Images of something "that should've ended" began to flash through his mind. His eyes grew wide with realization. "How could I be so stupid?" He suddenly shouted, beginning to walk a little ways, throwing his hands in the air.

"What?" John asked, shocked at the sudden outburst. "What is it?"

The detective did a U-turn to John, then back again in self-frustration. "How could I be so blind? _Where something should've ended." _He looked up at the night sky with his mind racing. How could he miss something so simple? It was only a big part of recent years!

"What about it?" John cried, desperate for a answer.

"St. Bart's!" He shouted, beginning to pace.

Why was John so slow?

"What about St. Bart-"

Sherlock grabbed his friend by the arms and locked eyes with him in frustration and excitement. "'Where something should've ended'. It should've ended three years ago! I should've died!" He grinned with excitement as he walked couple of paces away. "Oh, that was clever," he muttered, referring to the text.

"So, this killer," John began, placing the pieces together, "wants to meet you at St. Bart's on the 18th of July at 8:55 am or pm? Why?"

"I don't know," he quickly answered in a low voice, walking back, passing John within two steps, his mind still going. "I really don't know." He quickly pulled out his cell phone and began to text Mycroft the answer, then shoving the phone back into his pocket. "I'll find out in nine days."

"You have to tell Molly."

Sherlock turned to the doctor with an obvious look. "Of course I will! But not yet."

"And why not yet?" He cried with annoyance in his voice. "She is your girlfriend and has the right to know."

He waved him off. "I'll tell her, but not now. I don't want to worry her."

"At least tell her something because she's worried about you!"

"I'll just tell her there's nothing to worry about!" He hollered back.

His phone sounded, making him take it out and read a text from his brother saying that he sent the message to the killer and waiting for a reply. Not needing to respond, Sherlock placed the phone away, turning his attention back to his friend, relaxing. "I will tell Molly. Don't worry about it."

"When will you tell her?" There was darkness in his brown eyes. "When? Two years later or the day of?"

Was that necessary?

Sherlock heavily sighed, looking down at the ground with his eyes, then back to his friend. "I will tell her when I hear more about the killer. I promise." He was going to tell Molly, of course, but didn't want to worry her until he learned more of who he was dealing with. He hated worry her and he knew that he and John would go on dangerous cases, she was scared that she the two of them wouldn't return. Especially Sherlock Holmes.

The doctor just nodded, muttering, "Good."

The detective sighed and began to wave down a taxi, who slowed to a stop beside them.


	6. Chapter 5

It wasn't long when Sherlock and John returned to the flat, but when they spotted the police parked in front of the building with lights on, Sherlock's heart grew cold with dread. The taxi stopped and the two quickly climbed out, paying the driver, and hurried to police with the detective taking the lead. "What happened?" Sherlock demanded, trying to remain calm.

"Bit of a break-in," a young cop answered. "Lestrade's inside."

Sherlock sped walked to the door and up the stairs with John at his heels. If something happened to Molly, he would never forgive himself for leaving her alone. He burst through the door to find Molly holding the baby and talking to Lestrade. "Oh, thank God," he heavily sighed, approaching her and taking his girlfriend into his arms. He cupped her face and looked her in the eyes that were red with a tear-stained face. "Are you alright?" He ran his fingers through her hair and deduced no visible injuries.

She gave a small smile and quietly answered, "I'm fine."

"What happened?" John asked, getting the detective's attention to the inspector detective.

"There was a break in and Miss. Hooper was… A bit in danger," Lestrade answered, glancing at the woman.

Worry pulsed through the detective's veins. "What does that mean?" He coldly asked, turning to Molly.

"If Mrs. Hudson didn't call the police…" Her voice faded as her eyes began to fog up.

He held his girlfriend tight as John took the baby from her arms, allowing her to get close to his chest and bury her face in his shirt and softly wept. "He busted through the door and I grabbed the baby and ran to the bedroom. He demanded to know where you were. I locked the door to grab the gun and he said if I didn't tell, he'd shoot the door down and would kill me." She began to sob harder as she placed her face in her hands. "He said that you were going to find me dead." She broke down and he held her tight.

Whoever did this, would pay dearly.

"He got away before we showed up," Lestrade replied softly. "Guess he knew we were coming."

"No," Sherlock stated coldly. "He had second thoughts." He took Molly's wrists and looked down at her. "Why did he leave?"

She looked up at him with pain-fillled eyes. "H-he got a text."

"A text?" Lestrade repeated, taken aback.

Sherlock eyes slightly raised at the answer, but didn't show his surprise as he remembered that he sent a test to Mycroft around that time. "Do you know what he looked like?"

She shook her head. "He was wearing a black hood, but he looked really sinister."

"Do you think he'll come back?" John questioned, still holding the baby.

The detective looked at his friend, slowly releasing Molly's wrists. "After what happened? No. It's my turn to find him. He is quickly losing his patience." He turned to Lestrade and pulled out the photo of the woman. "Have you seen this woman named Emily?"

He shook his head. "No."

Sherlock said nothing as he walked to the wall and pinned it back up. "Lestrade, you and your men are done here." He stepped back, staring at the photo.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," he answered coldly, still staring at the picture.

Lestrade began to round up his men and walk out.

"John," Sherlock called, not looking at him. "Return home. Your wife and baby need you. Could you take the orphan with you after what happened?" His voice dropped, "Now is no place for an infant."

"Are you-"

He looked at him with a emotionless gaze. "Yes."

The doctor hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Fine." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his wife. After a quick conversation, he hung up. "Mary said it's fine."

"Of course she would," the detective stated as if the answer was obvious as Molly handed him the baby.

"Call me if you need anything." He gave a quick kiss on Molly's cheek and began to head for the door with baby in hand. "Night."

"Night," Molly called, then the door closed.

Sherlock returned his attention to the photo as Molly stood beside him, joining him in the photo staring. "He was looking for you."

"Yep," he replied, popping the 'P'.

"He said that it wouldn't be enough for him for you to find me dead."

"No. He wants to kill me and hurting you wouldn't satisfy."

"Still didn't find the mother?"

"No. Emily is her name, though."

She took a small breath. "I'm actually glad you weren't here."

He looked down at her with wonder.

"He was determined to kill you," she continued as she didn't look at him. "I knew if had the chance, he'd-" a tear rolled down- "I feared that if you walked in…" She bowed her head, trying not to cry.

"You afraid I didn't stand a chance," he gently finished for her.

"I kept hoping that you weren't coming home soon. I always worried that you wouldn't return home, but this time if you did…" she looked up at him with fear.

Sherlock sadly smirked as he placed his hand on her cheek as she placed an hand over his and held it, refusing to let him go. "I wouldn't go down without a fight," he told her as he leaned forward. "I'm just glad that he left. If he didn't," he looked her in the eyes, "my heart would bleed." He passionately kissed her with her arms around his waist. The thought of finding his girlfriend dead was shoved from his memory as he just savored the taste of her lips. She was alive and her heart was beating. He kissed her neck, over the jugular feeling her nervous pulse. He could sense that she was relaxing, relieved that her boyfriend was home and that they were both alive.

"Sherlock," she whispered as he held her close. "What are the texts-"

There was a knock on the door, breaking them up. "Come in," he called, starting to remove his coat and scarf that he forgot that he was still wearing.

The door opened to a shaken Mrs. Hudson. "Oh, thank goodness you're home. I heard the commotion upstairs and I knew it couldn't have been you," she explained as he walked over to the coatrack and hung up his coat and scarf. "I was hoping you would come home soon and you did just in time." She walked up to Molly, taking her hands. "How are you, dearie?" She began to look around the flat. "Where's the baby?"

"John took him home tonight."

"That's for the best. I was worried for both of you."

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock sighed, looking over at the landlady, "we just had a break in and a long day, so could you-"

"Of course I'll go make tea," she said with an innocent smile.

Sherlock rubbed his hand down his face with annoyance.

"He meant was," Molly kindly smiled as she wrapped arm about the older woman's shoulder, leading her to the door, "I nearly died tonight and need to spend sometime with my boyfriend."

"Oh, I got it. Want some alone time after having a near death experience," she smiled knowingly as she gave small wave of the hand. "Want to show how important you are to each other, I see?"

"No, it's jus-"

"I understand completely." The landlady took the door, ready to walk out and smiled slyly at the woman. "I suggest making it romantic for the occasion." She then walked out, closing the door behind as Molly just stood there, staring at the door with puzzlement.

"Well," Sherlock began, placing his hands behind his back. "She always gets signals mixed up." He looked down at the floor, then back to her. "Molly, there's something I have to-"

"Damn right there is, Sherlock," she began coldly, looking back at him with frustration in her brown eyes. "First, there was calling from your bother, then, you thinking about a case, and then this happens!" She stormed up to him, her eyes not breaking the gaze. "What is going on?" She demanded.

"Someone wants to kill me," he loudly announced with annoyance. "I didn't want to tell you, until I knew more. There was a murder this morning that had my name written in blood on the wall," he hissed. "He sent texts to my brother, telling him messages to send to me. One was a code on the 18th of July, I am to meet him on top of St. Bart's." Frustration and irritation was fueling his blood. Already this man killed someone and nearly killed his girlfriend. He need to find the killer and soon!

Dread over came her eyes. "Another suicide?" She whispered with fear.

"I hope not, because I already did that. The second time gets boring," he grumbled as he walked couple of paces away. "No, this is something else, but I am going to learn that in eight days."

"What if he comes back?"

"He won't." He looked at her over his shoulder. "You'll be ready if he does. While I am out at night, I want you to carry the gun with you to every room just in case. I want you to have your phone on you at all times," he ordered as he looked back in front of himself, then relaxed. "I nearly lost you once, I don't plan to lose you again." He hardly said that to his girlfriend, but when he did, he meant it and she knew it.

Molly wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his back. "Tell me next when something like that happens. Tell me about the cases. Especially if someone wants to murder my boyfriend." Her voice fell to a whisper at the end.

He knew that she was trying not to cry as she gently took a small breath.

Sherlock lightly sighed. "No one is going to murder me," he stated lowly. He wouldn't be surprised if it did happen, but he wouldn't let it happen.

"How do you know?" She whispered. "How do you know that you won't end up like one of your cases? How do you know that I won't have to examine your corpse?"

"Do you want me to quit my job?" He asked with confusion.

"No, I don't want you to quit," she hissed as she released him. "I want you to tell me what is happening," her voice grew louder. "I want you to tell me what danger you are in."

"I don't want to worry you," he snapped, trying not to lose his temper.

"I'd rather know, so I won't be surprised to find a bullet in your head!" She began to cry.

_Her nerves are shot, _he told himself. _Kept secrets of murderer, break-in, attempted murder… That is sensitive to some people. _"I'll tell you about cases from now on," he quietly told her, making her stop sniveling and listen. "I won't keep anything from you anymore. I promise I won't die." He looked at her over his shoulder. "That last one I intend to keep."

Molly approached him, wrapping her arms around his waist and held tightly as he did the same to her. Words didn't need to be traded to know what they were feeling. Sherlock knew that she was hurting, scared, and worried. He was going to protect her, no matter what happens and he wasn't going to keep any case away from her again.


	7. Chapter 6

Four days was silent with no news of killings and the mother of the baby still hadn't been found, making Sherlock return to his Homeless Network and carry on the search from there.

Four days remained until the meeting at St. Bart's.

Sherlock was laying on the couch in the afternoon as John was visiting when Molly was at work and Mary babysitting to give the detective quiet time to think. While the two friends were sitting in silence as the detective was still thinking of Emily, his phone went off, making him get up, walk to the table, pick up his phone and read a text from Mary. "Your wife texted me," he told the doctor.

"Mary?" John dumbly asked he approached his tall friend, who began to read the text. "What does she want?"

"She says the kids are safe with a nanny."

"Okay." He paused, then looked at him with confusion. "What does that mean?"

His phone began to ring in his hand.

"Molly is now calling me."

Before John could say anything, the detective answered the phone. "Hello, Molly."

"Sherlock?" She asked as if she was nervous, trying to be brave. "I want to tell you that I love you."

"Molly?" He asked with confusion, getting a sick feeling in his gut.

"Never doubt for a second that I don't. After all the fights, after the things I've said to you, I never meant a word."

He narrowed his eyes with worry, knowing that they hardly faught and didn't remember the things that she said to him when she was cross. "What is going on?" His voice was low and dark.

It sounded as if the phone was moving.

"Hello, Sherlock," a soft voice spoke.

A voice that he recognized anywhere.

"Mary?"

"Mary?" John repeated with surprise.

"I know that this is a bit of a shocker to you, but I had to do this. The pay was… too good." Her voice sounded as if was trying to be truthful.

"So you're helping the killer?" He causally questioned.

John tensed as his eyes began to show pain and anger.

"Again: The pay."

"Let me talk to her," John hissed as he tried to take the phone away, but Sherlock turned away, not wanting to be interrupted.

"Tell me why Molly then," he asked in a cold voice at the thought of his girlfriend in danger. "To get to me? Is that it?"

John was fuming behind him.

"You wouldn't waste time to save her, Sherlock." Her voice was hollow. "Two days, Sherlock. In two days, you will be able to find her. Don't worry, the children are safe with a nanny like I said in the text. Send John my love." It sounded like she was trying not to cry.

"I will," he promised, then the line went dead.

"What did she say?" The doctor asked, taking heavy breaths, trying to remain calm.

"She sends you her love," he simply answered, lowering the phone, just thinking of the woman's voice.

John's eyes began to burn with betrayal. "She is helping the killer and she sends me her-"

"She is forced into this, John!" Sherlock shouted, whipping his head to his friend, who looked puzzled. The detective relaxed. "Her voice was trying to stay strong, but it deceived her. She is in trouble as well as Molly." He placed the phone on the table, the woman's voice not leaving him alone, but why did Molly say those things? She knew Mary. Was it just in case or was there something that he was missing?

His friend bowed his head and took a deep breath, then looked back at the detective. "Then what do we do?"

Sherlock looked away with his eyes in a pondering manner. "She says in two days I'll be able to find Molly. The children are with a nanny in the meantime, so don't worry about them."

"And what of my wife?" The doctor asked with a worried tone, staring at his friend.

The detective looked into his friend's eyes. He knew that John loved Mary with all his heart and has a baby girl with her. After shooting his best friend, John didn't think that she was meant to be trusted for obvious reasons, but the detective convinced him otherwise and she proved herself shortly after. Hell, she even helped take down Moriarty, who was still at large. Mary was no fool. "She'll be fine. I know for a fact that she is on our side. She loves you, John." Every word was the truth.

The doctor sadly nodded. "I know she is," he whispered with a hurting smile. "I know she is." He then headed for his coat hanging on the rack.

Sherlock faced his friend with confusion. "Where are you going?"

"Check my daughter." He paused as he was in the middle of putting his coat on, staring at the other man. "You're coming, too!"

The detective said nothing as he grabbed his phone, hurried to the coatrack, threw on his coat, scarf, and then followed the doctor out of the flat.

* * *

The older nanny was at the Watson's home with the two children like Mary had said. John held his infant daughter in his arms as the nanny was holding the orphan, talking about what Mary had said. Leaving him be, Sherlock just walked around the living room, looking at family pictures on the mantle and smirked in memory at the sight of the wedding photo. What a good day to solve a murder, that was. Then he came across a photo of a five-month-old Lily wearing a pink dress, being held in her beaming mother's arms. Mary would do anything to protect her family. How exactly far would she go?

His pale eyes narrowed inquisitively, staring at the woman in the photo, thinking of what the killer might have said to her to make her do this. He didn't just threaten John or Lily. Both, obviously, but what did he say? What did he say to her that would make her take money- if there was money- from a killer? Whatever it was, it scared her enough to not say "No". What killer, though, knew about Mary's capability? He didn't know a lot, but he knew enough. He knew just enough to know what would make her agree. Now instead of using Mycroft as the messenger, he was using Mary and Molly as a targeting point, so the detective would be fast about it. It was not Moriarty, that was a given, but what killer would do this? What killer would-

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned around to face a concerned John Watson with dull, brown eyes. "All Emily knows is that Mary seemed bit in a hurry. Nothing else and nothing more."

"Of course that is all that she knows," he hissed with irritation at the obvious answer. "What would Mary tell her? That a killer was paying her and that she would use Molly as a hostage?" He saw the pain his friend's eyes as they drifted away, knowing that his sarcasm went a bit far and took a deep breath, knowing that the worry of Molly was starting to kick in. "I will find her. Both of them."

"What if he comes after Lily?" John softly asked.

"He would have no reason to. He's got what he wanted and that was Mary and Molly."

That was truth of it.

John had hope returning to his eyes as he looked back at the detective.

"You stay her with the kids and I'll return to the flat. I'll text you if anything comes up. In two days we'll find them."

The worried husband nodded his head, clearly too worried, baffled, and angry that this was happening to his wife. So many emotions were twisting inside the doctor's mind and Sherlock didn't blame him.

The detective said his farewell to his bet friend and nanny, then headed out the door, hiding his concern for his girlfriend, but knew that she would be safe as long as Mary Watson was there.


	8. Chapter 7

Molly was tied to the chair for four hours now. When she heard Sherlock's voice on the other end, she felt her heart throbbing in her chest as Mary was holding a gun to her head as they were both being watched. The assassin whispered to her to sound convincing and she did just that, wanting to seem scared and that something was wrong- which, obviously, something was. After the conversation ended between the consulting detective and the assassin, the two women both took a sigh of relief as the gun was lowered from the pathologist's head.

"Why is he making us do this?" She whispered to the blonde woman.

Mary shook her head. "I don't know, but if I see him, I'm going to blow his brains out." She lightly tapped the gun against her leg with irritation as she walked around the small room.

Molly smirked. "You and I both know you can't do that." She quickly added, "Well, you could, but it's a little risky."

"I know what you mean." She sadly smirked. "God, I don't want us both to get killed."

"How many men did you say he had?" She looked up at her friend with wonder.

"Three I believe, but they were hired hits. Just thugs off the streets really." She then bowed her head with concern as she stopped walking in front of the bound woman. "I only hope that John isn't cross with me." She raised her head with hopefulness. "Sherlock sounded like he knew what was happening."

The tied woman smirked with reassurance. "I'm sure after they come for us, everything will be settled. As long as you and I stick together, we'll be fine." She then smiled, knowing that it was true. Mary was a woman that was meant to be trusted.

Mary looked over at her with a smile. "You're right. In two days, the boys will stop this madness."

A wonder then entered the pathologist's mind, making her slowly frown and brown eyes drift away. "So this was all just to take Sherlock down? To finish what Moriarty failed to do?"

"Sherlock won't go down. Not that easily." Mary's voice was stern and truthful with strong eyes. "I may be forced into scaring you and the boys, but you trust me and even this idiot knows that I would turn gun against him and his thugs any chance I get." Mary knelt in front of her, making her look in the woman's blue eyes that were strong and meaningful. "Sherlock will get out alive."

Feeling a surge of determination and knowing her boyfriend, Molly knew that it was true and there was no way that Sherlock Holmes was going to die by this amatuer maniac.

* * *

The flat was quiet as if the baby was returned home as if Molly was at work, but they were not. No. The orphan was the only one safe out of the three. As the sun was rising, Sherlock was already up and out of bed, just sitting on the couch, looking out the window, knowing that his girlfriend was going to be okay. This was the first time that something like this had happened to the pathologist, but since Mary was hopefully with the former assassin, it didn't scare him as much. He knew next time she wouldn't be luck to have John's wife by her side.

Wanting to get the thought from his mind, he stood up, grabbed his violin and bow, and began to play a ballad. Tomorrow he was able to find Molly and Mary and get the killer and kidnapper into custody. But the words that his girlfriend said still unnerved him. Why did she say those words? Those words of "I love you no matter what" and "I never meant what I said". Why those words? If she knew that she was safer than she would be without Mary Watson, why did she say those words? Then something entered his brain, making him stop in mid-tune with a flash of worry. Did she know something that he didn't? Like dying? Was he going to find Molly Hooper's dead body His blood began to run cold with horror, then roughly shook his head.

No.

Molly Hooper was going to live.

She was probably made to say those words to throw him off kilter.

He carried on to play, reassuring himself. He was going to get Molly unscathed and John would reunite with an unharmed Mary. That's how it was going to go, that's how it was gong to be and end with the killer behind bars.

The violinist carried on to play for another three hours, until there was a knock on the door and opened to Mycroft, who was dressed in his usual light-grey suit with a Navy-blue umbrella. "Hello, little brother. I see that you playing your troubles away." There was augment in his voice.

"I'm thinking," the violinist stated, continuing to play with his back to his brother, who closed the door.

"Worried about your girlfriend?"

"As long as Mary is with her, I know she is safer than she would be," he dryly answered, not in the mood for his brother.

"Mary? Mary Watson? Don't tell me she is also kidnapped. Gracious. What is the world coming to?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he sat on the red chair.

Sherlock lowered his violin and bow, looking at his brother with bored wonder. "What are you doing here so early?"

The older one looked at his brother with a forced smile. "I came to keep my little brother out of trouble just in case his worries about his girlfriend grew."

"You could lie better than that." Sherlock placed his instrument on the couch, knowing his older brother so well.

"Very well," Mycroft lightly sighed. "I just came to drop by to say, 'Hi' and was wondering if you want to get some fish and chips."

Sherlock narrowed his blue eyes, unamused by his brother's humor. He quickly spun around, walking abruptly to him, looking him in the eyes. "What did the kidnapper say?"

Mycroft dug his phone out from his coat pocket, went through the messages and read, "'Tomorrow is the day where you get your girlfriend and your friend's wife back and where you die.'"

"Why does it always end with me dying?" Sherlock questioned, bored of the same threat. It never changes. Everyone just wants his head. It gets boring very quickly.

"Because you are just so well loved," his brother answered with a sarcastic smile.

The detective gave a unamused snort as he turned away with boredom, then looked into the kitchen at his "lab" where he would hold his experiments. "I wish Molly was here," he muttered.

"Worried about her?"

"No, she just makes good tea."

Mycroft looked up at his brother. "You are happy with her, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm happy with her." He looked down at his "guest", taken about by his words. "I wouldn't have dated her for a year if I wasn't."

"Are you thinking of marriage?" He suddenly asked, then smiled as he closed his eyes with delight. "I could see it now: Sherlock Holmes dressed in a suit along with a shimmering bride."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

The daydream ended when a disgusted look grew on Mycroft's face as his eyes opened. "Oh, but that mean's that I'll have to go to the wedding, won't I?"

"Oh, you won't have to worry about that because there is no wedding!" The annoyed young man hissed as he stormed to the couch, moved his violin and bow to the floor, then laid on the couch.

"Of course. You'll need the bride first. Too bad she's kidnapped."

"I'm not going to get married! Molly is just my girlfriend. I don't plan on getting married and she knows that." Weddings were never his thing, let alone getting married himself. He always had to be ready for a case and there was even a case at John's wedding. Just imagine if the groom had to solve a case before one of his own guest died. Now, that would be interesting, but it wasn't going to happen because he was not going to get married. Molly knew that.

"You'll get her back," Mycroft comforted.

He glanced at his big brother. "I know I'm going to get her back."

"Well, I'll be off then. Just came by to check on my lonely brother," he mocked as he was heading for the door.

"Not as lonely as you," Sherlock muttered, causing his brother to stop in his tracks and gave him a unamused glare that looked he wanted to do something about it. Just as he was about to leave, the detective added, "I recommend Shelly's Bakery that just opened a week ago a couple of blocks from here." He was trying not to snigger as he felt his brother's death glare.

Mycroft then walked out the door, closing it from behind.


	9. Chapter 8

The whole of day was silent as Sherlock and John were sitting in the flat of 221B in utter silence as patience was wearing thin. The doctor would walk around the living room to the kitchen, then back just to get his mind off things as Sherlock was just playing the violin. The two friends were waiting for some form of contact from Molly, Mary, Mycroft, or the killer. Noon slowly rolled by as Mrs. Hudson dropped off some tea, but the doctor was too worried about his wife to drink it as the detective was too deep in thought over the sound of the violin.

The afternoon came by and the blogger began to crack.

"Shouldn't we be doing something?" He asked, trying to stay calm.

"Like what?" Sherlock coolly questioned, still playing a lovely ballad.

"Like I don't know… Saving our women?" The doctor shouted as he jumped off his chair, fidgeting with worry.

Sherlock sighed as he continued to play. "We are waiting for where to go. We can't blindly walk around London looking for them."

"They said today would be the day that we would be able to find them." He threw his arms out, and lifeless dropped them to his sides as if he was waiting for something to happen. "We are not going to hear from them, Sherlock!"

"Be patient. It's only four."

"Only- only four?" John repeated as if in disbelief. "Don't you even care about Molly?"

There was an abrupt screech on the violin's strings and the room grew eerily quiet as the tall man slowly lowered the instrument.

"Sherlock," his friend began cautiously. "I didn't mean- I'm just-"

"You're worried about Mary, I know," he darkly replied. His eyes were just locked on the window in front of him, but not paying attention to what he was looking at. "I am worried about Molly as much as you are about your wife." He looked at his worried friend over his lean shoulder. The ex-soldier's eyes were swirling with confusion, pain, and hidden anger. "We are going to find them. We just have to wait."

John nodded his head as he looked down, feeling helpless.

The flat returned to its silence.

* * *

At 8:55 p.m exactly, Sherlock got a text from his brother with directions of where to go and in caps was an order to not bring the police. "John," the detective said as he dashed to his scarf and coat with phone in hand. "The game is on!"

The doctor leapt to his feet and hurried to his black coat. "What did it say?" He quickly asked.

"You're going to love this one," the detective smirked as he shoved the phone into his pocket and tied the scarf around his neck. "We're going to the old building where we had to deal with the Study in Pink."

"Are you serious?" He smirked, finding the humor in it as he was placing his coat on. "Do you want me to shoot through another window?"

Sherlock chuckled. "You may have to." He then looked at his friend with wonder. "Did you bring your gun?"

John straightened his coat, then looked at him with sarcasm. "I actually was on planning punching my way through to save my wife. Of course I brought my bloody gun!"

The detective looked at him as if offended. "I was just making sure." He returned to the task at hand, threw the door open and dashed out the flat. "Let's move!"

John quickly followed him, closing the door from behind. When they got outside, the detective flagged down a taxi, telling the driver that he'll pay more if he got there faster than usual.

The driver obliged.

* * *

After the taxi drove away, the two friends stood in front of the two buildings that were very similar, remembering that they were each in a building during that time. Their women were either in one or the other. Possibly even in both. John's eyes were staring at the one in front of him on the left. "Who knows what we're expecting," he muttered.

"Shall we separate?"

"And risk getting killed without one of us knowing?" He glanced at his tall friend. "You don't even have a gun."

Sherlock gave a small shrug. "All to make things more exciting."

"I swear if the killer is another damned cabby…"

The detective chuckled. "That would be ironic."

"I take the one on the right, you take the left?"

"Sounds good."

"If we don't find anyone in any building?"

"Come into the other."

"Right."

"Ready?"

"Why not?"

"Good."

Without another word being said, the detective headed straight for the building catty-corner to him as John went for the other.

John was slowly walking around the halls, gun at the ready, listening for any movement or anything that caught his eyes. Checking unlocked doors and poking his head inside the empty rooms, he carried on his search, hoping to find at least one of the women. He carried on his way down the long halls like that and kept finding nothing. No sign of people anywhere. Starting to get uneasy, he continued his search, hoping for the best of results. Then he came to a door that was slightly ajar. Creeping over to it with cold curiosity, the doctor stood behind the door and listened, hearing some shuffling on the other side. He slowly pushed the door open and just as he caught a glimpse of two thugs, they opened fire, forcing him to slam the door closed and leapt against the wall as a couple of bullets penetrated through the door.

Damn that was close.

"Mr. Watson," a voice from the inside called. "It is safe for you to come in."

"If that is a lie, you better do better than that!" He called back, knowing better.

Then a pain-filled voice screamed, "John!"

His heart stopped with horror and eyes grew wide as his blood ran cold. He threw the door open and found Molly bound in a chair with her long hair in a stringy mess, leaning forward, staring at him with terror-filed eyes and looked as if she was starving for food and seemed to be ill. "What have you done to her?" He demanded as his blood began to boil with rage.

Sherlock would go mad if he saw her like this.

He stepped a couple of paces forward, but the two armed men aimed their guns at him. They both looked to be amateur, hired thugs.

"Nothing," the voice answered as a young man was walking through the long counters. His hair was chin-length and blonde. He seem abnormally thin and looked to live a rough life. That's all he could tell. "Absolutely nothing."

He knew what he meant by that. He didn't need to hurt her, but torture her like not feeding her or taking care of her as if he would. "Where's my wife?" He coldly demanded.

* * *

Sherlock was listening as carefully as he could, stealthily creeping down the halls, checking for any sign of people being nearby with his keen eyes. When he heard movement behind a nearby door, he approached it, ready for anything. Slowly turning the knob, he very cautiously opened the door, holding his breath, preparing for any form of action. He opened the door all the way to a large, empty room, only with chairs and tables like the one he dealt with the cabbie in. Glancing around from the corner of his eyes, he pressed forward inside, walking slowly as his senses were heightened as the edges of the room were dark.

Then movement caught the corner of his eye and quickly ducked down as a gun was fired. Twice. "Can we at least try to talk?" He hollered, wanting answers before he died, which he was not planning on doing.

There was silence.

He cautiously rose to his feet, facing the direction of the shot came from to find a young man no older than twenty-five, holding a gun at his side. The detective quickly deduced the man as a hired hit, not a good aim considering he didn't even feel a bullet fly pass him, or that was on purpose. He was living in a shabby place and by the worn look of his casual clothes, he hardly washed them and didn't have money to buy knew ones. He was more than likely a mugger than the killer he was after. "Thank you," he muttered after a second-long deduction.

"What do you want before you die, detective?" The man growled with a rough accent. His brown hair was pulled back in a lose pony tail and had hard, dark eyes.

"I want to know who hired you," he stated with coldness, wanting to get straight to the point.

"Larren. David Larren," came the strong reply.

"Who is he?"

The man gave a quick smirk. "The one who is going to kill Sherlock Holme's, but that pleasure will go to me."

"All this," he started, unamused. "All this just to kill me. Your boss must be truly desperate."

"We're just tired of you running on the streets! All of us are! We were on Moriarty's side!" There was anger and hate in his voice.

"So your just Moriarty's fan club?" He smirked with a amused snort. "Moriarty failed to kill me, so you want to do it for him?" This was like the start of a bad joke, but certainly a rare thing to run into.

The man growled, quickly aiming the gun back at the detective.

Sherlock returned to seriousness. "Next question: Where are the girls?"

"One is in the other building and the other is in this one." His eyes had death in them.

"What's the catch?"

He gestured with the gun. "Behind you."

Sherlock slowly turns around, fearing the worst, but instead, he spotted the silhouette of Mary bound to a chair and gagged at the far wall. He knew that he had to get to her. Taking a deep breath, he jumped over the table in front of and the thug began to open fire, but the detective was too fast at dodging. When he got to Mary, he knocked her over to her side, to keep her down. He quickly removed the gag.

"Gun. In my boot," she quickly hissed as she was shaking her right leg.

The detective grabbed the small gun from her boot and gave her a smirk of approval.

"There you are," a sneering voice stated behind him.

Knowing that he was about to fire, the detective quickly looked over his shoulder, aimed, and fire all in one motion.

The thug staggered, but gun still in handing, forcing the detective to fire again until the man dropped dead. He placed the gun down and turned his attention to the bound woman, quickly untying. "How long did you have that gun for?"

"I never left home without it. The idiots forgot to check my boots." He helped her to her feet, handing her back the weapon. "Where is John?" There was concern and fear in her eyes as dried blood was running down to her right eyebrow from a cut on her forehead.

"In the other building. I'm assuming still alive."

"Then let's go."

Before he was about to open his mouth, the former assassin already ran out the room, causing him to follow.


	10. Chapter 9

The hallways were silent, causing Sherlock and Mary to slow down to a quick walk, skimming for John and Molly. When they heard gun fire, the two broke into a run. Then a wounded John hurried behind the corner of a doorway, clenching his right arm as he shot another bullet before leaning against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, gasping.

The two skidded to a halt.

"John!" The detective called with large eyes at the sight of his wounded friend.

The doctor looked at him with wide eyes that grew relieved. "Thank God you're alright! I shot one, but I don't know if I killed him."

"Allow me," Mary offered with coldness in her voice.

Before Sherlock tried to stop her, the woman hurried to the doorway, quickly drew her gun, and fired, then leapt aside to her husband just as another gun was fired. John kissed the back of her head with love and relief on his face as he closed his eyes as his wife slightly turned her head into him with comfort and love.

"Sherlock!" A voice from the inside of the room shouted with anger.

The detective gave a signal to his friends to stay back and they gave a curt nod of their heads.

Mary then threw her arms around John's neck burring her face in his shoulder, too eager to hide her emotions as John rest her head in her neck, savoring her love.

Sherlock headed for the door, allowing the couple to be relieved that they were back in each other's arms, and walked inside the large room, finding two men dead and a sobbing Molly sitting in a chair with her head hung low. When she raised her face, Sherlock was taken aback on how unhealthy she looked in three short days, but he saw her eyes light up at the sight of him. He was too focused on his hurting girlfriend to notice the killer slowly approaching her with a gun drawn, aiming at him. Molly looked like she went through Hell. If only he was able to find her sooner! If only he was able to protect her better! His keen eyes then met the man with anger boiling his blood. "What did you do to her?" He demanded, wanting to beat the man to an inch of his life.

"I wanted to see how much she had faith in you," the man spoke.

"You're not Moriarty. Oh, I know all about you and the fan club!" He spat, holding back the anger. "Wanting to finish what he started… You really are an idiot," he snarled. "You even broke into my flat, threatened to kill my girlfriend, then you do this! If Moriarty could see you, he'd laugh."

That was probably true.

Before the young man could open his mouth, Sherlock demanded, "Who are you?"

"Why should I-"

"So the police know," he answered with an emotionless voice.

The killer's light-colored eyes grew blazing with rage, stretching his arms out, aiming the gun at him.

Molly was staring at her boyfriend with large, terrified eyes, fearing the worst.

Then a gun was fired.

Expecting to feel pain in his chest like when Mary shot him, he felt nothing, but watched the man in front of him stagger, clenching his gut. Distant sirens were echoing, making the detective quietly sigh with relief and whispered, "Finally." He turned around to find Mary, holding the smoking gun. "Thanks." He hurried to his girlfriend's side, quickly untying her wrists as she was beginning to tremble. He tried to comfort her as he was undo the rope's knot as Mary helped by untying her ankles, but she didn't listen. She tried to force her hands to be free. "Molly," he soothed, "calm down." When the rope finally fell to the floor, he was about to check on the pathologist, but she threw her arms around his neck and held him tight.

Sherlock held her tight, running his fingers through her hair, catching on a knot or two. He turned his gaze to Mary, who was comfortingly rubbing her back with sympathy. "What happened?" He softly asked, fearing the worst.

"She hasn't been fed since she was kidnapped," the blonde answered quietly. "They would hit her once in while and I could only protect her as much as I could. They kept telling her that they were going to kill you and trying to break her spirit."

Sherlock kissed his girlfriend's head, then looked at the doorway, finding that John was no where to be found. "Where's John?"

"He went to meet the police."

At that moment, cops came in the room with Lestrade taking the lead.

"Can you walk?" He whispered to the pathologist.

She nodded.

He helped her to her unsteady feet as she refused to let him go.

"What happened?" The inspector questioned the detective as he approached the three of them. When he noticed the shape that Molly was in, his blue eyes grew wide with horror. "What happened to her?"

"She was kidnapped along with Mary," he answered in a mild rush. "There are three thugs, the other one is laying dead in the other building."

An officer approached Lestrade. "He's alive, but he needs medical attention."

When the inspector turned to find the wounded man, Sherlock was heading to the door with his arm around Molly's shoulder with Mary following. He had to find John and get Molly checked up. He knew she was going to be alright, but the sight of her still scared him. Never had he seen her like this, nor has anyone else. He tried to talk to her, trying to keep her in check. The traumatized woman kept nodding a muttering answers to him, but was still clenching his coat in a death grip. The trio made their way out of the building, passing a couple of officers. John was sitting on the back of the ambulance, still clenching his bloody arm. _Probably refusing to get attention until we showed up, _the detective thought. When the blogger noticed them, he leapt off, ignoring the doctor. "Are you alright?" He asked them, until he noticed the sight of Molly. His eyes grew wide. "Jesus. Mary wasn't joking."

"She'll be fine now," Sherlock muttered. He looked at his friend's wounded arm. "Shot in the arm again?" He gave small smirk of humor.

John shook his head. "Yeah. Can you believe it? Same bloody arm." He smirked with humor. "Literally."

"Is this the right time?" Mary whispered, wrapping her arm around her husband's back. "Let's get you fixed up, love."

Sherlock then stepped forward with worry. "You're a doctor. Is Molly going to be alright or is she going to need medical attention?"

John became the doctor he was as he gently placed a hand under Molly's chin to make her look at him. After a quick analysis, the doctor stepped back. "She needs rest and food, but not much at once. Also she is dehydrated, but not critical." He looked up at his tall friend. "Other than that, she needs you."

As if a cue, Molly got closer to her boyfriend, nerves beginning to relax.

John's phone then went off, making him answer it. "John Watson."

His eyes grew wide at the words on the other end.

"We are actually ending a case right now. Is she available to come over tomorrow morning?"

He earned all pairs of eyes from the trio.

"He will be there. That is for certain." He smiled. "Thank you. I have to go. Thank you again." He then hung up the phone, looking back to the eager eyes. "We found the mother."

"Are you serious?" Sherlock asked with a puzzled smile.

"It was the bartender. She came by and matched the description." He grinned with excitement. "We found the mother!"

Sherlock released his girlfriend, clapping his hands together with excitement. "Ah, two cases completed in one night!" He then looked at his friend with wonder. "When is she coming?"

"Your flat at nine in the morning."

"Good." He then smirked. "You go to the hospital and get your arm healed. I'm taking Molly home."

John gave a small nod as his wife looked at him with concern. "I'll keep in touch. Take care of her, Sherlock."

The detective smirked, holding his girlfriend again. "I will."

The two couples said their good-byes and went their separate ways. Sherlock had to talk to Lestrade as Molly was waiting in the back of a cop car. After the report and explanation was made, the detective joined his girlfriend and hitched a ride back to the flat.


	11. Chapter 10

It was eight in the morning when Sherlock was already up and about, letting Molly sleep in as the sleeping baby was sleeping on the couch in the living room. In about an hour before the mother would reunite with her son. It was an odd having an infant at the flat, but it would be different if that was his own child. He couldn't hep to chuckle at the thought as he was sitting in his usual chair, watching the child. A sociopathic detective for a father, pathologist as a mother, ex-solider for a uncle, the British government for another uncle, ex-assassin for an aunt… That kid was going to be definitely safe. God, what would the kid turn out to be? What would John's daughter become? Two cousins fighting crime with each other? That sounds like a bad comic.

When a half an hour past, Sherlock thought if he should tell Molly that the mother was going to be here shortly, but knew that she needed her sleep. He didn't want to think what would happen if she had to wait longer than two days for him to find her. He knew that Mary did some help to protect her, but she could only do what she was able to. If anything happened to Molly, he knew that it would feel as though he failed her. She was his support and had his heart.

He loved her.

Then there was a knock on the door.

He stood up and opened it to a young blond, no doubt the mother because the baby had her lips. He noticed that she didn't have a ring on her finger and quickly deduced her, answering all the questions, pointing the finger at someone else for the abandonment of the infant. "You must Emily," he said with a kind smile, hiding his knowledge.

"I am," she said in a nervous tone. "I'm sorry that I'm a lithe early, but I heard that you have-"

He stepped aside, revealing the sleeping infant.

Tears instantly flooded the woman's eyes as she rushed to her son and carefully took him in her arms. "I'm never letting you go again," she sobbed, looking down at the sleeping baby, holding him close. "I promise."

Sherlock closed the door and looked at the woman with his hands behind in back with knowledge. "Your father abandoned your son because you weren't married, did he not?"

Emily froze, then slowly looked at him with surprised eyes. "Yes," she answered quietly. "How did-"

"You don't have a ring on your finger, but why did you put the photo if you knew he was going to abandon him?" He quickly asked, not worried about her questions.

"I-I-" She bowed her head as she began to weep, causing her to sit on the couch, holding her baby tight. "I never wanted to give him up," she explained, beginning to calm herself. "My father was too worried about my own life and said that I should get rid of him. I told him that I wouldn't, but when after my baby was born eight months ago, I was trying to go to college, but it was hard for me to take proper care for him and couldn't find a nanny for eight-month-old and my father… Took Max and a photo of me and…" she began to cry again, then looked up at the detective with grateful eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Thank you, so, so much."

He chuckled with amusement. "You're welcome, but I'm not the one who found him. My girlfriend did." His smile slowly disappeared. "She took in your son." He didn't have much to do for the welfare for the child, only helping Molly out when she needed it. Even John and Mary took in the child for a little while.

Emily looked at him with wonder. "Where is she?"

"Ah, she is sleeping. Rough couple of days for her, but that's all settled." He smiled a ridiculous grin, then it, too, slowly faded.

"I'm glad to here that it's gotten better for her. Thank her for me, will you please?"

He chuckled. "I will."

She stood up with the baby in her arms and headed for the door.

Being the gentleman he is, Sherlock opened the door for her, and gave each other a final smile before she walked out with her baby in her arms. He smiled thinly with admiration as he watched the mother and her baby descend down the stairs. This was his first case that involved a reunion and one that was certainly worth it, but never again. No. Finding people was not his job, unless the person was a killer. He closed the door and walked to the bedroom to check on Molly and whispered her the news. She rolled over, telling him to join her. He laid on the bed and wrapped his arm around her little shoulders as she cuddled close to his chest.

No.

He didn't need a child.

Molly already has to deal with one and things were fine without another.

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**Thank you for reading I hoped you enjoyed it. I also want to thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows. It really helps!**


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